After the Quidditch Match
by elgatoneun
Summary: Chapter 4 updated ... finally. This is PercyOliver slash.
1. Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff

Title:  After the Quidditch Match (1/5)

Author:  elgatoneun

Rating:  PG-13 for slash

Pairing:  Percy/Oliver

Summary:  After the first match of the year, Percy finds Oliver and tries to comfort him.

Disclaimer:  These characters do not belong to me.

Spoilers:  Everything up to and including book 3.

Feedback:  Would be appreciated

Notes:  This takes places during Percy and Oliver's 7th year (Prisoner of Azkaban).  I subscribe to the popular belief that Percy and Oliver are the only two seventh year boys in Gryffindor.

Percy looked up from his textbook at the sound of noisy clumping that accompanied the entrance of the twins and several members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.  They had played ferociously regardless of the terrible weather; they had done their best.  If Percy admired anything, it was people who persevered, despite the odds, to do their duty.  His faint look of admiration changed to one of disapproval at the muddy state they were all in.

"Shouldn't you have cleaned up by now?  You're positively filthy!  And you're tracking mud all over the floor."      

"We were checking in on Harry.  He'll be fine, in case you were concerned." Angelina Johnson coolly informed him.  Percy blushed.  Angelina lifted one eyebrow at him disdainfully before she turned and regally left the room.  The other girls followed in her wake.

Percy looked over at Fred and George, chagrined by their gleeful smiles.  

"Oy!  That Angelina, do you think she'd marry me?"  George asked, blissfully sinking into a fluffy armchair.  

"Not if I ask her first," replied Fred, who was leaning against the fireplace.    

Percy frowned at them.  The twins were covered in mud; they looked like giant versions of the gnomes that continually infested their garden at home.  He watched as Fred lazily flecked off crusts of dirt that had dried from the warmth of the fire.  Then he realized something.

"Where's Oliver?"

"He's drowning himself in the showers," George replied nonchalantly.

"What!?"  Percy bolted straight out of his chair.  He looked anxiously back and forth at the twins, waiting for one of them to elaborate.

"He's depressed, he's been in the showers since the end of the match."  Fred turned to dry the other side of his body. 

"That was over an hour ago!  Didn't anyone check up on him?"  Percy was outraged.  The twins blinked at him, curious at Percy's extreme reaction.  

"He'll be fine, …" George began reassuringly, only to have Fred finish his sentence. 

"Oliver will get over it.  C'mon, George, let's hit the showers, I think my face is cracking."  The twins bounded up the stairs, leaving Percy gaping incredulously at the fireplace.  Of all the boorish, inconsiderate, uncaring …

Percy stalked up three steps of the stairway before he changed his mind and yelled, "_Accio Umbrella_!" 

A yelp from one of the twins confirmed that they had unfortunately been caught in the trajectory of the umbrella's path.  Percy grinned, savoring the moment, just before the umbrella flew into his hand.

He left the confines of the castle and trudged out in the direction of the Quidditch pitch.  The weather had calmed down a bit.  There were no longer lusty gales and booming thunder.  The rain, however, continued to pour down steadily.  

He reached the locker room and attempted the door.  It was obviously locked from the inside.

"_Alohomora_!"         

A wave of wet warmth enveloped Percy as he entered the locker room.  He didn't hear the showers, but the amount of steam was such that he could barely see two feet in front of him.  

"Oliver, … Oliver, are you in here?"  There was no answer.  He muttered a curse when he banged his shin against one of the benches.  Percy slowly moved deeper into the room.  He heard a small knock.  He stilled his movement; there it was again.  And again.  Percy headed in the direction of the knocking sound that reverberated in the atmosphere.

He turned left at the last row of lockers.  Oliver Wood was slumped on the far end of the bench, his forehead leaning against one of the lockers.  He was naked except for a small white towel around his waist.  

"There you are.  What are you doing?"  Percy inquired gently, eyes flickering over him, checking to make sure he was okay.  His relief turned to exasperation.  Honestly, all this fuss over a stupid game.  

Oliver slowly turned to face him; he was the picture of abject misery.  Percy felt his irritation dissipate.  His eyes fixed on the reddened patch of skin on Oliver's forehead, confirming his suspicion that the knocking sound had been Oliver, steadily thumping his forehead against locker.

"We lost, Percy," whimpered Oliver in a pitiful voice.  Percy had to bite his lip to keep from smiling at his friend's overwrought expression.  Oliver was such a drama queen.  

"It's okay, Oliver, just a minor setback.  You'll win the next one, I'm sure of it.  Come on, get dressed.  You'll catch a chill sitting around like this."  Percy helped Oliver stand up.  Oliver flung his arm out, just narrowly missing clocking Percy in face.

"You don't understand.  It's all verra well for you," Oliver's accent seemed to get more pronounced when he was distressed, "this is my last year.  I willna have another chance."  Oliver's agitated movements caused his towel to slip off.  He didn't notice, but Percy did.

In fact, Percy's jaw dropped.  Oliver was a very well built, brawny lad.  He was a fine, proud example of Scottish manhood.          

Percy raked his eyes over the vision before him.  Broad shoulders, beautifully defined chest, muscular torso and a long, thick, hm, well…

Percy suppressed the urge to lick his lips at a sight more appetizing than anything Honeydukes had to offer.

Oliver seemed oblivious to his ogling.  He was still clutching miserably at Percy's shoulder.  

"I'm a failure, it's me … the best team we've ever had … it has to be me.  I can't win …" the rest of his words were muffled against Percy's shoulder.  Percy struggled to get control of himself, the feel of Oliver's lips moving on him making it just that much harder.  He took a deep breath.  

"Oliver, it's not that bad.  Stop wallowing, it's unbefitting your position.  Now where are your clothes?"  Percy shook Oliver lightly.  He looked at Percy, eyes blinking, his gaze seemed to focus.  Oliver pointed to a locker.  Percy opened it and handed him some robes.  Oliver put the robe on, not bothering with anything else.

Percy decided this was good enough and led Oliver back to the Castle.  By the time they reached the Gryffindor tower, they were both soaked through.  The umbrella hadn't helped as the weather, capricious as always, changed in intensity again.  Rain had buffeted them at every angle and the winds had whipped their robes around their legs.

Oliver followed him up to their room.  He collapsed on his bed, heedless of the water soaking through the bed covers.  

"_Incendio_!"  Percy started a fire to warm up their room.  As Head Boy, Percy should have had the privilege of having his own room.  However, this would have forced Oliver to room with the sixth-year Gryffindor boys.  It would have been unfair to let one boy have the largest and most comfortable dormitory all by himself.  So, to spare his dorm mate of the past six years this indignity, Percy generously gave up his private room.  As a reward for this noble gesture, a luxurious private bathroom had been magically added to the their room.  It was a perk that more than made up for any inconvenience that came from sharing.

Percy tore through his mate's wardrobe and threw him some warm clothes.  

"Here, put these on before you freeze to death."  He made sure Oliver caught them before turning to find some dry clothes for himself.  He struggled out of his robes.  Everything was wet.  He changed his boxers and pulled on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.  He decided against the top and put on an old comfortable sweatshirt instead.

He glanced over at Oliver.  He was only half-dressed and staring at Percy intently.  Embarrassed by this intense scrutiny, he picked up his and Oliver's wet things and put them into the laundry chute.  He grabbed a towel from the bathroom.

"Oliver, go sit on my bed.  You're dripping all over your sheets."  Oliver docilely obeyed, shivering slightly as he moved.  Percy sat behind him on the bed.

"Arms up." Percy began drying off the other boy.  He rubbed Oliver's back vigorously with the towel.  He turned Oliver slightly so that he could reach his front as well.  Percy had to put his arms around the other boy in order to finish the job properly.  Throughout this endeavor, Percy was aware that Oliver's gaze had been locked on his face.  He looked up into warm brown eyes, glinting with amusement.

"Aren't you going to dress me?"  Oliver grinned at him adorably.  Percy handed him a thick wool jumper.  Oliver agreeably shrugged it on.

"Bloody idiot," Percy muttered.  Oliver pushed him down playfully.  Percy pretended to resist.

"You prat, you had me worried." 

"I'm sorry."  Oliver paused for a moment, "I'm beat."

"Me, too.  I'm going to bed."  

Oliver looked at Percy expectantly and gestured to his still damp sheets.

Percy lifted his bedcovers.

"Oh, come on then."  Oliver dived into the bed and snuggled up to Percy.  This was surprising; along with the luxurious bathroom, Percy and Oliver had been given enormous beds.  So enormous, they were almost indecent.  He had expected Oliver to sleep on the far end of the bed, but he was definitely not complaining.

"_Nox_."  The room went dark.  Oliver's breathing was tickling Percy's neck, so closely were they entwined.

"Percy?"   The whisper was a soft caress.

"Hm?"  His eyes were closed.  He was at that drowsy, lethargic state just before sleep.

"I meant for you to use a drying spell on the bed.  But this is much better."  Oliver put his arm around Percy and pressed in closer.

Percy opened his eyes in the darkness … and smiled.


	2. Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw

Title:  After the Quidditch Match (2/5)

Author:  elgatoneun

Rating:  PG-13 for slash

Pairing:  Percy/Oliver

Summary:  So the second match of the season between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff buoys up Oliver's hope that Gryffindor still has a chance at the House Cup.

Disclaimer:  These characters do not belong to me.

Spoilers:  Everything up to and including book 3.

Feedback:  Would be appreciated

Notes:  This takes places during Percy and Oliver's 7th year (Prisoner of Azkaban).  I subscribe to the popular belief that Percy and Oliver are the only two seventh year boys in Gryffindor.

Oliver Wood was in raptures.  He bounded gleefully up the stairs to his room.  

Ravenclaw had beat Hufflepuff.  Not just beat them, slaughtered them.  Take that Diggory.  

He thought back on Diggory's humiliation with relish.  Poor bugger had been taken down by a woman.  That saucy little Ravenclaw seeker had had him flying around in circles.  She was a pretty little thing, but dangerous, half the Hufflepuff team had been panting after her.  He was thankful that her feminine wiles wouldn't work on Harry; he was too young for that sort of thing.  

Oliver barreled into his room causing the door to bang open against the wall loudly.  He spied his dorm mate still asleep.  

"Percy, get up you lazy sod!"  He bounced onto his dorm mate's bed exuberantly.

Percy opened one eye at him balefully.

"Is someone dying?" 

"No."  Oliver grinned at him.  It would probably amaze most people to know that this particular Weasley was not a morning person.  It was just assumed that the responsible, rule-loving Head Boy would rise cheerfully with the sunshine.  This was not so.  Well, it made sense if one thought about it.  Percy often took his studies and leadership duties so seriously that he was up until the wee hours of the morning.

"Is there some sort of disaster going on?"  

"No."

"Then go away.  Let me sleep."  Percy shut his eyes and turned over on his other side.

Normally, Oliver wouldn't dream of waking Percy up.  He was usually up at the crack of dawn, eager to start the day with an invigorating session of Quidditch practice.  He respected his friend enormously and always tried to get ready quietly, so as not to disturb him.  But not today.

"Wake up, I've got something wonderful to tell you!"  He prodded Percy in the shoulder.  Hm, no reaction, this called for drastic measures.  Oliver stood up, grabbed the corners of the bedding and flung them off.  Percy shivered and opened his eyes.  He squinted malevolently up at his tormentor.  

Oliver flopped back onto the bed, mission accomplished.

Percy sat up.  

"Alright, what is so important," Percy yawned, "that you have to wake me up in such a rude manner?"

"We've still got a chance."  

"What?"

"We've still got a chance at the Cup!"  Percy looked at him as if he were daft.

"Come on, we've got to celebrate."  Percy responded by lying back down on the bed.  But no matter, Oliver knew he had already won.  Percy was a blanket hog and needed the warmth to lull him back to sleep.  This was something Oliver had learned over the past few weeks.  Ever since their new sleeping arrangements, Oliver had learned several new things about his mate.

"So, get on with it.  Take a shower and brush your hair.  It looks an awful mess."  Oliver knew that Percy hated looking anything else than perfectly groomed.  It was all part of the neat, tidy, well-organized image.  

"Not everybody can just tumble out of bed looking gorgeous," Percy shot back, clearly irritated.

"Yeh think I'm gorgeous?" Oliver smiled, honestly pleased at the compliment.

"Bloody idiot," muttered Percy, scowling when Oliver pulled the pillow out from under his head.

"That's bloody, gorgeous idiot, to you.  Now get out of bed."  Oliver demanded cheerfully. 

After Percy had showered and dressed, grumbling the entire time, they went into Hogsmeade.  They had a pleasant lunch and then gorged themselves on the various sweets at Honeydukes.  Percy purchased several packets of Sugar Quills.  Oliver attributed this to his dorm mate's insane oral fixation.  He couldn't count the numbers of times he'd walked in on Percy; hunched over his desk, books open and parchment everywhere, sucking negligently on the writing instrument.  That image often sent him into the bathroom for a cold shower.

Their last stop was a new store that had just opened in Hogsmeade.  Oliver had discovered it on his last trip into the village.  The moment he had seen it, he knew Percy would love it.  And he was right.  Percy had abandoned him as soon as they had stepped through the threshold.        

Oliver walked around the shop, gazing at the various gadgets.  There was a large assortment of appointment journals, various Magic Time Management books, and different sorts of enhancing potions, all the necessary items for a modern Witch or Wizard On The Go.

His gaze trailed to a pile of books in the discount bins.  They were all copies of Gilderoy Lockhart's "How to Magically Organize Your Life in 7 Minutes" marked at 99% off.  They were located right next to the aisle featuring Lockhart's line of Remembralls.  There was a pink recall notice next to a particularly large multifaceted one.  It promised to hold up to 128 different forgotten items that flashed different colors.  Apparently too many people were having trouble distinguishing between turquoise and aquamarine. 

Oliver spotted Percy standing in front of a huge rotating display of shelves.  A saleswizard was next to him, promoting a variety of models.  He walked over to them, ready to get Percy and leave the store.    

"And that's not all.  Each unit is independent but can also be integrated with any piece in the entire line.  Each unit is expandable; it can organize books by author and subject.  They shrink easily for mobility.  There's a 48-drawer addition specifically made to hold the most common Potions ingredients.  It's the latest in functional, modular space organization."  Oliver glanced over at Percy, who stood there totally captivated.  If it were anyone other than Percy, he would have suspected the saleswizard had performed an Enthrallment charm.

"Percy, we'd better go."  The saleswizard handed the rapt young man a brochure.  

"Thank you," Percy replied fervently.  His reverential gaze sparking a new sort of interest in the handsome saleswizard.  He leered at Percy suggestively.

"I'm off in about an hour, maybe we could …"

"Nope, sorry, we have to be going back to school now."  Oliver interrupted irately, making sure to emphasize the last two words.  The saleswizard dropped Percy's hand.

"That's too bad."  

Percy looked confused.  Oliver grabbed Percy's arm and yanked him out of the store.

"Of all the …" Oliver muttered angrily, "that wizard was old enough to be your father."  

"What are you talking about?"  

Oliver looked at Percy in disbelief; he was just too naïve for words.

"He fancies you, Percy.  He looked like he wanted to shag you eight ways from Sunday, right there on the bloody shelves!"  

"Really?"  Percy looked absurdly pleased.

"I can't believe this.  My friend is a pervert."  

"Don't be ridiculous, Wood.  It's just a bit of flattery.  They have to be friendly.  Besides, I would never … not with him anyway."

Oliver was incensed at Percy's dismissal of his words.  He looked Percy straight in the eye.  His gaze surely transmitted his own anger and jealousy.  He watched as slow realization dawned.  

Oliver moved forward and brushed his lips against Percy's.  He pulled away slowly, only to be yanked back forcefully by Percy's hand around his neck.  The next few moments were only about mouths and tongues melding together.  Passion flared.  

This was more powerful than the normal emotions that were engaged when they "fooled" around.  Although they had been "sleeping" together more often than not, they had limited their physical exploration.  A casual grope, a touch here and there, but neither of them had initiated anything more serious.  But this, good Lord, where had Percy learned to do that?  Oliver groaned as Percy did something with his tongue that sent shivers all the way down to his toes. 

They finally pulled apart, breathless.  Oliver recognized the lustful appreciative look on Percy's face from only a few moments ago.

"You were thinking about those shelves, weren't you?"  Oliver smiled at Percy's telltale blush.    

"Only a little … they were modular!"  Percy exclaimed, as if that explained everything.                            


	3. Ravenclaw vs Slytherin

Title:  After the Quidditch Match (3/5)

Author:  elgatoneun

Rating:  PG-13 for slash

Pairing:  Percy/Oliver

Summary:  Third match of the season is between Ravenclaw and Slytherin.  Oliver steps up training and needs help with something.  Percy helps and tries to cheer him up.

Disclaimer:  These characters do not belong to me.

Spoilers:  Everything up to and including book 3.

Feedback:  Would be appreciated

Notes:  This takes places during Percy and Oliver's 7th year (Prisoner of Azkaban).  I subscribe to the popular belief that Percy and Oliver are the only two seventh year boys in Gryffindor.

Oliver Wood was sitting at his desk.  His hand was poised over a piece of parchment.  A quill was clutched in his fist; a drop of ink splashed down onto the paper below.  Percy Weasley watched from the doorway of their shared room.  Oliver laid his quill to paper and wrote a few words.  He paused and then furiously scratched them out.  This procedure was repeated several times.  

"Oliver, do you need some help?"  

Percy was leaning casually against the frame of the door, arms folded.  It was actually a very good impression of Oliver's usual stance – casual, nonchalant … sexy.  Unfortunately, Oliver didn't seem to notice or appreciate it.  

"Oh, Percy, hello.  Hm, what's another word for 'insane'?  Something that's not offensive?"  Oliver seemed to scrutinize his paper intensely.  He crossed out some more writing.

Percy walked over to Oliver and peered at the parchment that seemed to wholly absorb his attention.  Oliver was frowning down at it, as if it were a recalcitrant pet that was defying him on purpose.  A little bit of his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth.  It was a ridiculous parody of childish concentration that was endearing and highly appealing. 

Percy looked down and read the paper obligingly.  It seemed to be a letter.  It was riddled with inkblots and crossed out words; it was barely legible.  He could make out the addressee, Professor McGonagall, the words 'Quidditch' and 'Firebolt', and something akin to a disaster of colossal proportions if something wasn't returned.  It also made several unsavory insinuations regarding McGonagall's loyalty and character.  Percy was shocked.

"What in the world are you writing?  Have you gone mad?  Are you trying to get expelled?"

Oliver looked up at Percy with his sad brown eyes.  Percy had to restrain himself from kissing Oliver right then and there.

"I might as well be."  Oliver leaned back in his chair, dispirited.  Percy patted him consolingly on the shoulder.  Oliver clasped his hand there.  Both of them were still for a moment.  

Percy shifted down to one knee, his right hand still within Oliver's grasp.  He kneeled there, with his arm around Oliver's shoulders.      

"So tell me what this is about," Percy said, referring to the letter. 

"You know Harry's Nimbus got smashed into pieces after the first game."  Oliver closed his eyes briefly, as if the pain of that moment were too much to bear.  

Percy nodded, and Oliver continued.

"Well, he got a new one over the holidays.  He got a Firebolt."  Oliver paused significantly, as if he were willing Percy to say something.

"Er, um, that's good isn't it?"  

Oliver looked at him somewhat scornfully, obviously annoyed at his ignorance.

"Good?!  It's bloody fantastic!  With a broom like that, the Cup's ours for sure."    

"What's the problem then?"

"It's McGonagall.  She confiscated it!  It's almost as if she wants us to lose."  

Percy was surprised.  Professor McGonagall was an avid supporter of the Gryffindor team, having discovered and scouted Harry for the Seeker position in the first place.

"Why would she do that?"  

Oliver huffed and folded his arms across his chest.

"Some nonsense about the Firebolt being from Sirius Black."  He waved his hand airily, dismissing the notion that a fugitive could possibly be behind the gift.  "She thinks it might be tampered with, and harm Harry somehow."

Percy's forehead creased thoughtfully.  He thought back on the extraordinary measures that had been taken to ensure Harry's safety this year.  Sirius Black was a dangerous criminal who posed a real threat to Harry.  He had overheard his parents talking about it enough over the summer to know that every precaution needed to be taken in order to prevent Black from getting to Harry.  He tried to choose his next words carefully.  

"Oliver, maybe McGonagall's right.  If the Firebolt is from Black, it can't possibly be a good idea to use it."

It was the wrong thing to say judging by Oliver's stricken expression.  Oliver looked at him as if he'd decapitated a kitten and stuck its bloody head in his mouth.  Oliver had a very expressive face.  Percy sighed; the kitten killer decided he might as well continue and try to reason with Oliver.

"If Sirius Black did manage to get a Firebolt and send it to Harry, it could very well kill him.  Everyone knows Harry's mad about Quidditch and that he needs a new broom.  It's the perfect opportunity to get to him."

Oliver wasn't looking at him with unmitigated horror anymore … it was slightly mitigated.  

"Oliver, there could be all sorts of spells and curses on that broom.  It's just not safe right now to be accepting things blindly, especially when it's seems so coincidental."  

"I canna believe you're on their side."  Oliver said this quietly, a note of defeat and betrayal evident in his tone.

"I'm not on their side, I just think you need to be careful.  Besides, McGonagall wouldn't have just thrown it away, she'll probably check it."

"Well, she said she would," Oliver said begrudgingly. 

Percy patted him on the back.

"There, you see, if the Firebolt's alright, you'll … I mean, Harry will get it back.  And everything will be fine."  Percy knew he was being patronizing, but couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Well, that's why I'm writing this letter, to sort of hurry things up a bit.  But it's awful."  Percy couldn't help but agree.  Oliver's eloquence was on the field, in his quickness and keen eye, flying fluidly and stealthily in the air while guarding the hoops.   It didn't extend to the written word.    

Percy looked down at the letter again.  There was only one part of the letter that could be deemed appropriate and inoffensive – the opening salutation.  

"I think it would be better if you went to speak with her personally.  You could plead your case, use a little of that Scottish charm you are so famous for."

"Maybe, will you go with me, Percy?  McGonagall will listen to you, you're Head Boy."  Percy smiled, amused at Oliver's words.  He was Head Boy – nobody listened to him.

"Of course, it can't be any worse than that letter."  They headed down to see the Head of Gryffindor house.

Percy was wrong, wrong, wrong … so dreadfully wrong.  

Twenty minutes later, he was pushing Oliver out of McGonagall's office.  One hand was clapped over Oliver's mouth.  The threat of being turned into a giant slug and then being let loose in a vat of salt didn't deter his companion into keeping his stupid mouth shut.  Percy's hand, now wet with spit, was doing that job.  

Oliver and Percy walked back to their dorm room.  Percy still prodded Oliver along now and then, his hand still a bit clammy from have been partially suctioned onto Oliver's lips.

Oliver muttered invectives about the outrageously stubborn Scottish woman's disposition and fiery temper, conveniently forgetting about his own.  His diatribe lasted only until they reached the main corridor to Gryffindor tower.  He was quiet and dejected by the time they reached their room.  Oliver immediately sank down onto his bed, sitting – elbows on his knees with his head cradled in his hands.  He stared morosely down at the floor.

Percy went to the bathroom to wash his hands.

Oliver was still pouting when he came out.  Oliver's handsome face was set in a childishly glum expression.  Percy sat down next to him.  He put his arm around Oliver, leaned in and whispered into his ear.

"Cheer up.  Come on, now … I'll let you do that thing you like to do."  He nuzzled Oliver's neck, and teasingly bit one sensitive earlobe.

Oliver shivered.  He turned his head to look at Percy dubiously, half suspicious and half hopeful.    

"Really?"  Oliver had the beginnings of a smile on his face, a little puppy dog expression that promised to be fully adorable.  Percy couldn't have denied him anything at that moment.

Percy nodded solemnly.  "Yes, really."

Oliver's dimples made an appearance and his eyes lit up.

"For how long?" Oliver demanded greedily.

Percy mentally calculated the time he would need to finish his assignments, revise for his Advanced Potions exam and make his rounds and reports for the night.  

"For an hour."

"With props and everything?"  Oliver was already gleefully assembling the items he deemed necessary for one of his favorite activities.  

"Props and everything."  Percy laid down on Oliver's bed, arms behind his head and watched as Oliver prepared.

Soon everything was set up properly.  Oliver positioned himself on the bed next to Percy.  His whole body flush, and fully aligned against his friend, the warmth of it seeping through to penetrate his very soul.  His head was supported in the crook of Percy's arm.  Oliver pointed out the objects hovering above them.  He took a deep breath.

Percy looked up dutifully.

"Now this is what I call the Whirlwind play.  See how that one Chaser seems to be in the Beater's position?"  Oliver pointed to a small figurine that was set up in the little model Quidditch field he had set up above them using a modified Levitation charm.

"So the Chaser is lined up along this trajectory, blocking the line here … now the seeker here has to …"  Oliver continued animatedly detailing his strategic plays while Percy listened obediently.  He looked down at Oliver, smiling and gesturing, his mood drastically different than what it had been only half an hour ago.  Oliver poked him a little to make sure he paid attention to the brilliantly clever maneuver that the play was named after, guaranteed to blow the opposing team away.  Percy let him ramble on.

Lying there next to Oliver, a thought occurred to Percy – this was one of his favorite things to do, too.


	4. Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw

Title: After the Quidditch Match (4/5)

Author: elgatoneun

Rating: R for slash, m/m interaction

Pairing: Percy/Oliver

Summary: Fourth match of the season is between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Percy helps Oliver relax after their win against Ravenclaw.

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.

Spoilers: Everything up to and including book 3.

Feedback: Would be appreciated

Notes: This takes places during Percy and Oliver's 7th year (Prisoner of Azkaban). I subscribe to the popular belief that Percy and Oliver are the only two seventh year boys in Gryffindor.

Oliver was in heaven. His body was submerged in water so hot that steam was still evaporating from the surface in wispy tendrils. Strong nimble fingers kneaded gently into the muscles of his upper back thoroughly, deliciously. He couldn't help the small whimpers that were escaping his lips. Warm slick flesh pressed into his skin from all sides. He felt cocooned. He was boneless, lethargic, a prisoner to the sensual assault on his body. He stretched slowly, luxuriously rubbing himself against a smooth chest and pushing into those wonderful hands. He jerked when he felt a rough bite on his left shoulder. The hands also stopped moving. Oliver moaned piteously. He tilted his head to look pleadingly up into stern brown eyes.

"Oliver, I told you to behave. If you can't stop wriggling around and moaning so much, I'm going to have to stop." Percy Weasley was a cold, cruel man. It wasn't fair that such a man had such gloriously talented hands. Oliver stilled his upper body as much as he could. He swallowed a half-bitten groan when he felt delicious pressure glide down from his shoulders to the small of his back.

Oliver couldn't fathom how Percy seemed to be so good at everything. Well, maybe not everything, but everything that counted.

"How am I supposed to give you a proper massage if you keep wiggling about?" Percy asked in a slightly aggrieved tone.

"I'd rather have an improper one." Oliver mumbled under his breath. He looked up into Percy's exasperated face.

"I think you might be trying to take advantage of me."

"Me? Trying to take advantage?" Oliver blinked innocently up at Percy. Well, he hoped he conveyed innocence. "Och, winning at Quidditch is fair hard on the body, my poor muscles are all cramped up and sore." Oliver waited a moment and clutched at his right shoulder, grimacing as if dying from the pain. He peeked under his lashes to garner Percy's reaction.

Percy smiled at him indulgently.

"I see, and I suppose you just manfully withstood all the pain you were in at the victory celebration. You know, the one where you were running around like mad and grabbing everyone."

Oliver wrinkled his brow in seriousness. "I have to set a good example. I'm the captain."

Percy sighed in defeat and started on Oliver's neck.

"Well, I suppose you did earn me 10 Galleons." Percy smiled generously. "Penny hasn't quite forgiven me for that." At that glib confession, the temperature of the water seemed to have dropped to freezing. Oliver shivered. He didn't welcome that cold splash of reality. He sat up, pulling himself away from Percy. He felt a hand caress his back gently.

"Oliver, are you alright?" Percy asked, concerned. Oliver didn't know how to approach him with his growing feelings. They were just two mates, messing about, having a bit of fun. He didn't know how to make it more, how to ask for more. And he was horribly aware that he would lose the little that he had if Percy didn't want more. He could picture Percy's apologetic expression. His pity and disappointment that Oliver could not keep the proper feeling in line with this arrangement. Oliver felt ridiculously like the "other woman" and didn't know how to get back to normal. He didn't even think he could go back to normal, not if it meant losing Percy.

"Yes, I'm fine. I think we should get out now. You're probably knackered."

Percy looked at him quizzically, but didn't argue. Oliver forced himself not to look as Percy stepped out of the bath. He closed his eyes, heard the rustling movement of Percy drying himself. Oliver opened them only when he heard light footsteps padding out into their room. He stood and let the water slide down his body, wishing Percy was there, watching him, wanting him. He knew he was fit, he had enough admirers of both sexes tell him often enough.

He didn't bother with a towel and just muttered a light drying spell. He was fairly good with some of the easier Charms spells. He put on his sleep bottoms, stepped over to the mirror and proceeded to brush his teeth.

"Why the long face, laddie? You're looking very handsome today." Oliver sighed. Fred and George had somehow snuck into the bathroom to charm the mirror into flirting with him and mocking Percy. He had yet to figure out how to end the spell without breaking the stupid thing. The mirror whistled at him every time he was starkers. It wasn't as bad as the retching noises that it made for Percy though. He pushed Fred and George extra hard at practice for that little gem.

"Are you playing with the mirror again?" Percy came back into the bathroom and stood behind him peering at Oliver's reflection.

"Here now, I don't want to see your freckled face."

Percy smiled. He seemed to take the mirror's insults in stride.

Percy leaned over and placed a light kiss on Oliver's shoulder.

"Hey, none of that. He shouldn't have to bear the likes of you touching him."

"_Silencio_." Percy's eyes locked onto his through the mirror. He licked the same spot on Oliver's shoulder with his tongue. Oliver felt that all the way down to his toes. He unwisely inhaled and choked on his toothpaste foam. He alternately coughed and spit out the contents of his mouth into the sink.

"I'm sorry." Percy didn't sound sorry at all. The stupid sod was laughing at him. All of Oliver's hurt and resentment bubbled over. He pushed himself back knocking into Percy roughly and walked out of the bathroom. Percy followed him.

"Piss off, Weasley."

"Oliver, I'm sorry. What's the matter with you? Are you worried about the Cup?" Percy sounded a little condescending and wholly indulgent.

"Is that all you think I think about? I'm just some idiot that does nothing but think about Quidditch all the time?" Oliver stomped over to his bed, his whole body was trembling.

"No, Oliver, I'm sorry … have I done something?" How could Percy be so smart and yet so dense at the same time? Oliver was horrified to feel uncomfortable pressure around his eyes, he would not cry in front of Percy.

"I'm tired of you treating me like some stupid first year that you have to mind. Just because I'm not as smart as you and your perfect girlfriend. Do you and Perfect Penelope trade stories about how much smarter you are than the rest of us? Does that get you both hot? Does she whisper Arithmancy theories in your ear? Does she know how to make to you come just by …"

Oliver hadn't seen the punch coming. He'd been too worked up in his own rage to pay attention to Percy's growing anger. He stumbled slightly and didn't have enough room to regain his equilibrium. Luckily, he landed on his bed. The left side of his face throbbed with heat and pain. He blinked up into Percy's face, red with anger.

"You will never speak of her like that. Do you understand me?" Percy's words were low and harsh with barely suppressed fury.

Oliver was shocked at his own outburst and Percy's reaction. Percy had never spoken to him in that kind of tone before. He'd gone too far. Percy couldn't look at him like that and still want to be with him in any way. It was over, and it was all his fault. He closed his eyes and felt a tear leak through.

There was absolute silence.

After an eternity, the bed dipped next to him. Percy muttered a healing spell. Oliver opened his eyes at the cool tingle of the spell. His eyes locked on directly to Percy's.

"Oliver, I'm sorry," Percy looked uncertain. He brought his hand to Oliver's face tentatively. Oliver jerked away. Percy's touch would be unbearable now.

"It's fine. You're right, I'm sorry, I had no call to say those things. I suppose I'm just tired." His voice was mortifyingly hoarse. He felt another tear slide down his cheek.

Percy frowned down at him with worry.

"Are you in pain? I may not have cast that correctly." Oliver wanted to laugh bitterly. His whole world consisted of pain right now.

"No, it's fine. You should go do your rounds. I'm just going to sleep."

Oliver moved gingerly under the covers of his own bed. He hadn't slept in it since the first match of the season. Oliver felt Percy's eyes on him the entire time but couldn't bring himself to meet his gaze.

He curled into the bed and pretended to go to sleep until he heard Percy leave the room.

He felt the chill of the room seep into his body. Oliver shivered. It was cold without Percy.


End file.
